


other intemperate hearts

by Stonestrewn



Series: Dinner Time [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3321407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stonestrewn/pseuds/Stonestrewn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Women and other folk, they’re enticed by Skinner. Dalish knows because she was, still is, just as captivated by her girlfriend's unrepentant confidence, as excited by the aggression barely contained in her wiry limbs and the promise of secret gentleness in the twitch of her ears. </p><p>She doesn’t mean to be jealous, but sometimes she looks at Skinner and feels all the ways she could lose her winding around her neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	other intemperate hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityfails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityfails/gifts).



> I took prompts for Femslash February over on tumblr, serenityfails asked for Dinner with a side of "marking her territory."
> 
> This ship has completely conquered my brain. A whole month of Skinner/Dalish tunnel vision, where will this end.

The waitress is gorgeous. Round belly, soft arms, rolls her wide hips in a way that makes the hem of her skirt dance around her ankles. She moves with the easy confidence of someone who is used to attention but doesn’t need it, criss-crossing gracefully between the tables inside the tavern. The place is full to bursting tonight, the Bull’s Chargers all crowded in together, and the ale is flowing, the coin is rolling and the waitresses’ eyes glitter in the candlelight as she laughs at the bawdy singing rising toward the ceiling. Dalish watches her, and the way she smiles puts a smile on her face, too. Dwarf girls can be so utterly lovely.

The Charger core are all squeezed into a small corner booth with benches fixed to the walls. Dalish and Skinner, the chief, Krem and the others. Not a lot of room, but Dalish doesn’t mind. Doesn’t mind Skinner’s thigh pressed against hers, or the arm looped around her waist to keep her from falling off the edge of the bench. It’s her and the Iron Bull in the outer seats, Bull with his seeing eye facing the room. He gestures to get the waitresses’ attention and frowns when she breezes past.

“I don’t think she sees me,” he says, which is entirely implausible. You can’t miss the one giant Qunari in the room, the village, the entire bannorn. He nudges Dalish with a foot. “You give it a try.”

“Why would that work any better?”

“She’s a ‘ladies first’ kind of woman.”

Dalish laugh-snorts because, really, you can’t tell from just a glance at someone busy at work. Sometimes the chief’s insistence on being able to read people can get rather ridiculous, but Skinner takes her arm from around Dalish and waves.

It works. The waitress spots it from across the room and immediately makes her way over, tray in hand.

The Iron Bull smirks. “Told ya.”  
  
“Everyone doing all right over here?” the waitress says once she’s at their table. “What can I get you?”

“Hmm,” the Iron Bull says, giving her a look that lingers appreciatively on her form. “Hope you don’t mind me thinking that one over for a bit.”

“If you want me to hang around there’s no need to be coy about it, honey.” Her voice is laden with a patient sort of cheer, but her smile isn’t directed at Bull as she says it. She meets Dalish’s eyes, briefly, and then her gaze skips to Skinner where it stops for a moment, appraising. It flicks back to Dalish and there’s a speck of thoughtfulness deep at the center of her brown eyes, but she briskly moves right on to taking their orders, and then it’s gone. All very ‘blink and you miss it.’ Dalish thinks the others did.  
  
She misses Skinner’s arm around her waist, the casual possessiveness of it. She wishes it back, and the wish intensifies when the waitress returns, skillfully balancing the tray with their drinks on one hand above her head. Her eyes go straight to Skinner.

The waitress hands out the mugs and pints and bottles, putting each one down near the edge of the table for them to pass along to each other. Except Skinner’s honey mead. With that one she goes up on her tippy-toes so she can reach to place it right before Skinner. The sleeve of her blouse nearly brushes Dalish’s nose and when she draws back, taking her time, her cleavage is right in her face. She hands Dalish her cider with a smile.

Is it teasing? A teasing, triumphant grin? Dalish thinks it might be. She sips her cider and the bubbles prick like a thousand needles on her tongue.

“You enjoy, all right? I’ll be around if you need refills,” the waitress says. She’s even prettier up close. Her skin is dark and smooth, her hair a cloud of curls around her head and her beard is rather impressively thick, impeccably groomed. Her beauty is a delight, but there’s also the way she looks at Skinner, the way she measures her up.

Dalish sinks back in her seat, the backrest hard and unyielding against her shoulder blades. She resists the impulse to adjust her braid, keeping her hands clenched in her lap. Her hair is greasy after a week on the road, she’s suddenly all too conscious of the fact, and she’s long overdue for a cut. The cropped short side of her head is a shaggy mess rather than a neat fuzz.

“So, once we’ve taken care of those bandits for you, think we could have the drinks on the house?” the chief says, even as he tosses the waitress a coin.

“With as much as the aldermen are paying you, you should take any chance to give back to the community,” she quips, catching the tip with an elegant flick of the wrist and tucking it into her bosom.

“Sorry about the commander,” Krem says, fond rather than apologetic. He swigs wine straight out of the bottle as usual, ignoring the clay mug he’s been given.

“Don’t worry, sweetnose. I guess you lot love yourself some loose drinks as well as cards,” the waitress says. She’s referencing the Chargers chant - the men must have sung it about twenty times already.

“We love ourselves some loose skirts even more,” Skinner says.

The waitress laughs at this, and the chief laughs and Krem laughs and Skinner laughs, they all laugh. Dalish laughs, too. She laughs and is glad the sound of it blends in with the others’ because it comes out all wrong, all hard and unhappy.

She’s being silly, she knows. A big old silly billy, but she can’t help the feeling in her stomach, like she’s swallowed shards of glass. Without Skinner’s arm around her waist she has to brace her leg against the floor so as not to slide off the bench. Her foot has started cramping a little from it. The cider is too strong. The tavern is too hot and noisy and her breasts are too small and her eyes are too dull with stubby lashes and she _hates_ her lips, why are they always, always so chapped?

She must admit, she’s had better nights.

\--

Most men don’t like Skinner, they see her steel-cold stare, the way she takes up space like she’s conquering it and interest turns to confusion, and then hostility. With some it doesn’t - not with Krem or the chief or Stitches and the others - but men in general recoil from the mercilessness with which Skinner takes on the world, completely without desire to coddle or indulge.

Women, though. Women and other folk, they don’t recoil. They’re enticed. Dalish knows because she was, still is, just as captivated by Skinner’s unrepentant confidence, as excited by the aggression barely contained in her wiry limbs and the promise of secret gentleness in the twitch of her ears.

She doesn’t mean to be jealous, but sometimes she looks at Skinner and feels all the ways she could lose her winding around her neck. The Chargers are like an unexpected cave in the wilderness, shelter in a world of storms, and Skinner is the hidden gemstone in its depth, rough but gleaming. She’s so lucky to have found her way here.

She never knew luck came with so many worries attached.

Getting some sleep does wonders for her mood, however, and Dalish wakes up filled with anticipation for the upcoming fight. Being around the Iron Bull does a lot to raise one’s enthusiasm for all things violent. The chief sure loves hitting things. It’s both endearing and infective.

They set out for the bandit camp before dawn and fortune must favor the early bird because the guesswork directions they’ve been given lead them right to the target. The battle is easy, almost disappointingly so. Rubbish bandits gone lazy and careless after too long with nothing but easy pickings, scared farmers and defenseless villages and soldiers busy fighting the petty wars of nobles. The Charger’s attack takes them by surprise. Many die in their beds, others with their blades not fully unsheathed. The archer division take care of those who manage to flee the carnage, picking them off before they can disappear into the woods. Skinner with her arrows and Dalish with her… other arrows. They earn their money well.

Word of their victory travels fast and they return to a village already in celebration. It’s been a hard year for the people here, filled with grief and starvation. Now that there’s a reason to rejoice they throw themselves into it and the Chargers are happy to join in on the revelry and reap the gratitude.

“Chief’s not coming,” Krem says as he comes back from the final meeting with the village elders together with the Iron Bull.

Rocky raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Said something about this silver fox he had to hunt down.” Krem pauses and adds: “He’s getting laid with one of the aldermen,” as if that needed clarification.

With Stitches busy tending to the injured, it’s only the five of them making their way to the tavern. People greet them as they pass, chant the Chargers name and pat them on the back. Krem has at least one girl clinging to each arm the whole way.

“Is it the rank or the cheekbones?” Dalish wonders out loud.

“The lethal combination,” Skinner says at the same time as Rocky goes: “The beef, I’d wager.”

Grim grunts.

It’s only a short walk in Krem’s attractive shadow before they reach their destination. Upon opening the door the noise from within hits them loud and sudden: music, bellowing, roaring laughter. Grim and Rocky grin at each other before throwing themselves into the fray, Krem checks the coins in his pocket before following, but Dalish takes Skinner’s hand and drags her in a whole other direction. She’s just thought of something she needs to do.

There are a few bushes around the corner and that’s where Dalish leads her, through the branches and up against the tavern wall.

“What’s going on?” Skinner asks. Dalish answers by pulling her in by the scarf and kissing her deeply. It’s well received.

They break apart and Skinner quirks a brow. “You want to do it out here?” She throws a glance over her shoulder, at the sparse foliage. “A bit... public.”

“I just wanted to kiss you. Because we are so good at our jobs.”

“Fucking professionals,” Skinner agrees, and goes in for another kiss. Slower this time, more tongue. She tugs at Dalish’s hair, gently, not enough force behind it to truly turn her on but it still wrings a little whine from the back of her throat. Skinner loves that. Dalish loves that Skinner loves that.

“Skinner,” Dalish says after a few minutes. “Skinner, I’d like to-” but it’s hard to talk with Skinner nibbling at her lower lip all the while. “ _Skinner_.”

“Mm,” Skinner hums, trying to reclaim Dalish’s mouth all for herself, but Dalish turns her head to the side.

“No, Skinner, listen. I’d like you to… to mark me.” It comes out awkwardly. “I mean, I’d like a love bite, please. Or several. You know, hickeys?” she pleads when Skinner just stares.

“But you hate that. You’ve never liked it.”

“Oh, I’m sure I have,” Dalish says. “I’m quite positive I’ve never said I _hated_ it-”

Skinner interrupts her. She is, all of a sudden, very serious. “Don’t pull that pretendy bullshit with me, not when it’s about this stuff.” Her face softens. “I’ll give you whatever you want, okay. If you say you’ve changed your mind, I believe you. But only if you’re sure.”

“I am.” Dalish strokes Skinner’s cheek, bares her own neck. She feels Skinner’s breath first, hot but tentative, then her lips and the slightest grazing of teeth.

“I don’t want to do anything you won’t like,” Skinner murmurs against her skin. Dalish hugs her tight.

“Please.”

It’s really not too bad. Much better than Dalish remembered from those times with the boy from the clan, even if she won’t be suggesting it much in the future, she thinks. Pain, any degree of pain, isn’t typically her thing. This, though, Skinner latching on to the most tender part of her neck to suck and bite until it shows has a certain surge to it. It makes her squirm with a combination of discomfort and pleasure that’s quite interesting, gets her pulse racing.

A little later Skinner scrutinizes the red blotches spread from Dalish’s chin to her collarbone as they straighten their clothes and hair, getting ready to finally enter the tavern.

“You can wear my scarf, if you want,” she says.

“No, no, not necessary at all, thank you.”

“Everyone’s going to notice.”

“Will they? I hardly believe that,” Dalish says, airily waving away the concern. “I’m sure no one will, it was dark in there, wasn’t it?”

Skinner shrugs. “Fine, whatever. It’ll only bother you.”

Going inside, Dalish pulls down her collar and tucks the hair on the unshaved part of her hair behind her ear. She wants the bites to show, wants them to glow like a signal. They’re both her armor and weapon now, and her second battle of the day is about to begin.

It’s never something they plan, but the Charger core cluster together more often than not. They may not strictly have entered as a group, but Dalish finds Krem, Grim and Rocky all together by the same table they had last time, and she never considers the option not to join them. Skinner is held up along the way, one of the other archers buying her a drink as thanks for saving him earlier, but Dalish knows she’ll be with them before long.

The booth is far less crowded without the chief taking up most available bench space. She sits down opposite Krem and he smirks, looking at her neck.

“So that’s what took you.”

Dalish just shrugs. As late as yesterday the embarrassment would have turned her bones to jelly - now she straightens her back. Sure, she’s scrawny and dry-skinned and her lips are chapped, but she bears the signs of Skinner marking her as territory and that means she wins. She spots the waitress, heading for their table, and prepares herself for attack.

She fully intends to be mean. She’s dead set on making sure this girl, and every girl, knows where the border is set, where you’re not to cross. Her head is full of sharpened words but then the waitress is right there, skirt swaying, and all her quips and barbs suddenly feel like saw dust in her mouth.

The waitress wears a garland of daisies in her hair, interwoven with her curls. More of the white little flowers are stuck into her beard and the effect is so wonderfully delicate, almost ethereal, and Dalish just _can’t_. The dwarven woman exudes happiness. Dalish just can’t bring herself to set it aflame.

“You look lovely today,” she says instead, and the smile the compliment triggers is so sparkling, so genuine that she feels wretched for ever considering this adorable person her enemy.

The waitress takes their orders, and when she returns she hands Dalish her drink with the same stretching flourish she did last time even though it’s not necessary for her to reach. Tip-toes and cleavage on display, showing off her curves with coquettish grace even though Skinner’s not around. Along with Dalish’s cider she also sets down a small glass of golden whiskey. It wasn’t part of the order but when Dalish tries to point out the mistake, the waitress shakes her head.

“That one’s on the house,” she says. “Thanks for all your hard work today, gorgeous.” She’s still smiling, never stopped, and her face remains alight with it as she leans in to kiss Dalish once on each cheek, once dryly on the lips.

Dalish laughs, realization bursting through. Oh, she was so wrong. The appraising and the teasing grins, they meant something else entirely, were for someone else. She’s been ridiculous. Dalish knows she’s blushing, feels the heat in her face, relief and shame and flattered ego jumbled together.

“You won’t strike gold there, I’m afraid,” Rocky says to the waitress. “You know the scowly elf? They’re an item. Committed and shit.”

“Aw, I had my suspicions. Too bad for me,” she says. Her tone is light, untroubled. “Tell your girl she’s lucky, all right?” she adds to Dalish, and then she leaves, one last brilliant smile over her shoulder.

A few minutes later, Skinner rejoins the party. She eyes Dalish’s burning cheeks and the others’ gleeful grins. “What’d I miss?”

“Just a lady trying to pick up your lady,” Rocky says. Dalish sticks her chin out pertly.

“You’re very lucky to have me, you know.”

Skinner takes a seat by her side, throws an arm around her shoulders. “Yeah. I know.”

The closeness is effortless, natural. Dalish rests her head on Skinner’s shoulder and the hickeys on her neck smart, aggravated by the new angle. She feels lucky, dizzyingly so, her worries small and silly and very far away. She hopes she can keep them that way. Wants to try. She makes a quiet promise to herself, to Skinner, to every lovely girl in the world to consider them kindly, to make her heart a wide open space.

Krem’s looking after the waitress, tapping his thumb against his bottle of wine. “Do you think ‘ladies first’ means ‘ladies only’?”

“Find out!” Dalish urges. “Go, go, go!”

He shifts in his seat. “...Maybe later.”

His ears are flushed. Dalish gasps. “That’s it!” She points an excited finger. “That’s his charm point, that’s what reels them in!”

“Oh, yeah.” Skinner nods. “Yeah, I see it.”

“So dashing-”

“-so handsome-”

“-and yet so easily flustered facing matters of the heart. A suave exterior with a gentle soul.”

“Fucking _lethal_.”

“I don’t know,” Rocky says, while Grim snickers. “My bet’s still on the beefcake.”

Krem glares at each of them in turn. His ears are turning redder by the second. “You’re all shits.”

The bickering continues but Dalish doesn’t pay attention after that. Skinner’s hand is sneaking under her shirt, dipping below the waistband of her pants. Skinner’s nibbling Dalish’s ear and then she’s kissing her, then Dalish is kissing back and then they’re leaving, stumbling up stairs, tearing at clothing.

She must admit, she’s had better nights. But not many.


End file.
